


Of pining and hating (Or how Yurio earned his nickname)

by anairamwrites (Missnerdiness)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Canon divergence where Yuri is around the same age of Yuuri and Viktor, Coach Victor Nikiforov, I love this tags, Insecure Yuri Plisetsky, LMAO, M/M, Oblivious Katsuki Yuuri, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Pining, Slow Burn, basically Yuri/Yuuri happens instead of Viktor/Yuuri you get me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10042910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missnerdiness/pseuds/anairamwrites
Summary: Yuri hated it. Hated him for making him feel such things. Hated the way the japanese skater was oblivious to Yuri’s scornful manners and the way he always replied with that coy, almost nervous, smile.And if someone would have told Yuri that one day Katsuki Yuuri would help him do his hair, he would have thrown his skates at that person without the guards on.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *waves hand nervously* Hi, everyone.  
> So, I haven't wrote in months, MONTHS! And this is actually my first post on this account so I'm slightly nervous.  
> This is also my first attempt in YOI fanfic so pleeeaaaaaseeee, forgive me if it's too out of character or there are mistakes. (Also, I'm not a native english speaker so there will be some gramatic mistakes too).  
> Anywaaaay, this is a gift for the wonderful @melsmarvel, who encouraged me to write and post again. <3

It started slow and unnoticed. Like the growing of a flower that is barely noticeable until it’s fully blossomed. 

A slow burn that began as an annoying itch inside Yuri’s chest, something where he couldn’t put his finger on and get rid of it. But it was there and it was real. Which pissed him off to no ends, but he got familiar and learned to live with it. 

The only thing he knew for sure is that the itching grow in size and intensity every time he looked at _him_. 

Katsuki Yuuri. 

The one with shy and tender smile. The one that had Yuri at the edge of his seat as soon as he stepped on the ice, making him flinch and groan when he messed up a jump but mesmerized him with a step sequence he was sure wasn’t possible human. 

He hated it. Hated him for making him feel such things. Hated the way the japanese skater was oblivious to Yuri’s scornful manners and the way he always replied with that coy, almost nervous, smile.

And when the scores appear on the screen, showing the one difference point that sent Yuri to the second place, he couldn’t avoid a small smile because his  _ totally-not-cute _ opponent just defeated him beautifully.

Yeah. Yuri was completely and utterly damned.

* * *

 

As he walked back to the hotel complex, silver medal around his neck, Viktor Nikiforov’s hand on his shoulder (the same shoulder where not so long ago, Katsuki Yuuri placed his own hand during the press photos), he couldn’t suppress the filled with jealously and annoyment snarl that escaped his lips when he saw Yuuri being squeezed by Christophe Giacometti while trying to get a selfie, the loud and excited laugh of his coach Viktor startling him, pulling Yuri’s arm to make him join the other men.

And Yuri swears he felt his heart up on his throat when Yuuri extended an arm towards him, arms inviting and wide smile, pulling Yuri towards him as soon as he’s at arm's length, patting his back in a silent greeting as they all pose, whispering so soft only Yuri could hear “See you at the World’s”. Making Yuri blush because in his mind, those words were loaded with something more than competitive friendship.

Yuri rejects Chris' offer of a copy of the photo, settling instead to screenshot the Instagram post so he can stare at it as long as he wants, but slapping Viktor’s hand aside when he shoves his phone on his face.

“Look how cute you look when you’re smiling!”. 

“Ugh. Stop”.

Because for the sake of his dignity, he has to keep his facade up. 

 

But even when Yuri would - _sometimes_ \- regret asking Viktor (with his cheerful and sometimes extravagant personality) to become his coach, he would always admire the light air of camaraderie that only former rivals like Viktor and Yuuri could have, built after years of competing against each other and sharing podiums. 

Because as soon as they were together, Viktor would usually start rambling about how hard it would be for Yuuri to defeat him if he hadn’t broke his leg, in the infamous accident that made him quit competitions all of sudden; deciding to become a coach because he was reluctant to leave the ice just yet, taking under his wing the promising rising star of Russia ( _ that would totally beat Yuuri’s ass _ , in Viktor’s words), just a couple of years younger but that Viktor still treated as some sort of little brother.

And Yuri never felt like rejecting Viktor even when he got mushy after he just skated his best, because he knew how hard it was for him to stop competing when he still had bright and promising years ahead. 

That’s why even when he would never admit it, deep down Yuri was skating not only for him, but for Viktor too.

* * *

Yuri can’t pinpoint the exact moment when his crush (“ _Of course it’s not a crush what are you even talking about, Mila?_ ”) for Yuuri started. It was maybe the first time he saw Yuuri crying after a competition, when he had messed up so bad no one thought he would return for the next season; or maybe it was the time when he actually returned the following year and surprised everyone with a program that, much to Viktor’s disgrace, broke the world’s record set just one year ago by the russian.

But Yuri still remembers the first season without Viktor competing, when the whole world turned its eyes on him, the same year he turned 19 and decided to take a break from college to take care of his grandpa; but mostly, he recalls pretty damn well the first time Katsuki Yuuri talked to him that one time they shared the rink for warm ups, hair slicked back and thick framed glasses over warm brown eyes (killer combo in Viktor’s opinion), joking about how “I will never get rid of these russians”, followed by a chuckle that warmed Yuri’s body.

And much to Viktor’s surprise, who had known the blond skater since he was a kid and could barely stand on the skates, Yuri smiled back once the black haired man was out of sight.

* * *

It had been almost two years since that and Yuri’s feelings did nothing but worsen. 

“You’re in _loooovee_ ”. Viktor practically sang, heart shaped smile and shiny eyes, hugging Yuri in a tight embrace and making him grit his teeth, Yuri opting to ignore his coach instead of reply, which in his experience would only earn more teasing from Viktor’s part, who was already babbling something about “ _how cute_ ” and “ _How did I not see this before?_ ”. 

Instead, his eyes remained glued to the figure of Yuuri doing his warm ups; he already knew Yuuri’s rituals by now, for example, he would never attempt a jump before competitions in order to remain calm. 

That’s why it surprised Yuri when the japanese attempted, and failed, a quad salchow. A jump he thought he already mastered.

Frowning, Yuri pushed past Viktor, proceeding to take off the guards of his skates after stretching his arms and legs at the edge of the rink. 

He spotted Otabek at the other side of the ice and Yuri slid into the ring. Otabek was a good listener, a calm and serene presence that helped Yuri to sooth his thoughts. Actually, just from seeing his undisturbed face was already a refreshing sight that Yuri appreciated grandly.  

“Yura”. Otabek nodded when he spotted the blond skater, a curve at the end of his lips only noticeable to Yuri’s expert gaze.

“Beka”. Yuri smiled more openly, skating until he was leaning against the rink’s wall next to Otabek, a comfortable silence settling around them that he enjoyed more than any talk.

Yuri heard Viktor calling his name, asking him to go back and do actual training, but he only had attention for a certain skater that was currently untying his skates next to the rink ignoring the pleas of his coach telling him that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, before walking back to the locker rooms. An agitated and disappointed look on his face that Yuri knew well.  

“You still have that longing look”. Otabek pointed with a murmur; a fond and deep laugh following his words when Yuri turned to look at him in terror but with flushed cheeks. 

Yuri tried to dismiss Otabek’s statement, smoothing his jacket down with his hands, head bowed down so his hair would cover his blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”. 

When he looks up, Otabek is still looking at him with a smug grin and Yuri groans. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea coming to him. 

“Yuri…”. Otabek talks again, dragging Yuri’s name just like Viktor does when a lecture is coming.  “When will you accept what is what you want?”. And his words enclose all the concern and support Otabek feels for his friend, because he has seen him go through the years carrying a yearning desire on his eyes, a crave that Yuri tried to ignore but only hurted him more. 

With a defeated sigh, Yuri bumps his fist against Otabek’s arm, playfully and hard, but Otabek remains stoic. “Just… go for it”.

And Yuri groans, because he hates when his friend is right. Hates it when everyone knows what to do except him. 

So once more he glides across the ice as fast as his determination and despair can, stumbling when the ice rink ends and he has to walk on normal ground again, rejecting Viktor with a “Not now!”, when he passes in front of him. Viktor’s face lighting up when Yuri strides to the backstage locker rooms, face filled with decision and a little bit of nervousness. 

And he promises to the universe that he will fucking kill Viktor when he hears him scream behind his back: “Yuri,  Удачи* !”.

* * *

Yuuri lifts his head at the sound of the door being opened and Yuri can see the moisture on his cheeks, brown eyes still glistening with the tears that threatened to fall. And Yuri would be lying if he said that it didn’t break his heart a little.

“Oi”. He says, closing the door behind him, his skates clattering against the floor as he unconsciously headed to his locker, pulling out the golden jacket -he was already wearing the black pants- he would wear for competition. 

It was just a excuse to be there alone with Yuuri;  and while he was taking off his shirt, he could feel it harder than ever. The tickle on his stomach; the warmth on his skin. A burning gaze on his bare back.

Yuuri sniffled, and then he managed to put on a smile that barely reached the corner of his eyes. “Yuri. Isn’t it a bit early to dress up?”

The blond skater stops what he’s doing, looking over his shoulder to see Yuuri cleaning up his face with a tissue. And he shrugs, sliding his arms into the soft fabric, buttoning the front of the jacket before turning around. 

“I still need to get my hair done”. Yuri explains with a condescending tone, his eyes flicking up and down quickly to look at the man in front of him, measuring him, wanting to punch and kiss him altogether. Wanting to make him pay for the years of torture he had put him through.

Maybe the desire of kissing was stronger than the punching one though.

The japanese skater nodded in understanding, now with a wider grin that infuriated Yuri even more because, why on earth would he kept smiling everytime he was an asshole with him? He was crying seconds ago for fuck’s sake. 

“Come here”, Yuuri gestures with his hand. “I can help you with that”. But when Yuuri sees the questioning expression on the blond’s face, he elaborates. “Remember when Viktor had long hair? I was behind some of the hairstyles”. He chuckles, probably remembering.  

And before Yuri could react, his feet were already walking towards him, Yuuri grasping his shoulders, guiding him and pushing him down gently to sit in one of the benches. 

The next thing Yuri knows is that soft fingers are carded in his hair, brushing his locks with expert hands, combing the blond hair ever so carefully. 

And it feels so personal and so relaxing. Yuri fucking _melts_.  

“Your hair is much longer now”. Yuuri muses softly. “Last year was about this length”, he continues, his fingers brushing against Yuri’s chin to demonstrate his point. 

Yuri swallows at the touch, his shoulders loosening and almost humming in delight. Laughing to himself because everything is so unbelievable; and if someone would have told him that one day Katsuki Yuuri would help him do his hair, he would have thrown his skates at that person without the guards on. 

“Yuri? Are you falling asleep?”. Yuuri asks after a while, his fingers sweeping the hair off of Yuri’s face, surprised to see this new phase of the boy who liked to act tough and rude towards him. This new person looking gentle, mellow.  

“No”. He replies in a whisper. “Just keep going”. Yuri asks, feeling his hair being pulled backwards and then twisted, at the same time he keeps handing Yuuri the bobby pins he had on his bag. “What were you doing crying here anyway? You should be practising your salchow instead. It’s shameful”. 

And there’s not a single hint of scorn behind his words, just honest curiosity, 

But when he feels Yuuri’s fingers come to a halt, stopping mid movement, Yuri regrets his words and wants to slap himself. And then Yuuri chuckles; in that way Yuri has only seen when Phichit or Viktor are around; his hands returning to work on Yuri’s hair. 

“It's silly. I think whatever result I get tonight will be a good one”. Yuuri replies, his voice not sounding as confident as he probably intended. “It’ll be my last season after all, I just want to enjoy it”. 

And Yuri feels like the air was knocked out of his body. Feeling a tight knot on his chest, like a heavy weight placed on his lungs. A different kind of burn in the pit of his stomach, one that made him wanna throw up everything he had eaten.

Yuri stammers with words that don't come out of his mouth, everything around him seeming too distant and blurry.

Because realization hit him like a train. Skating was the only way he could ever be close to Yuuri. Be _with_ him. Even when that only implied sharing the same room and skating in the same ice; settling for courteous nods and superficial chitchat at the banquet after competitions. He wouldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t let Yuuri escape from his grasp.

So even when he still feels Yuuri’s fingers on his head, he stands up and  turns around so fast he just feels some hairs pulling out from his scalp. “Retire? Why would you do that? I mean you’re still young, right? I mean, how old are you? 24, almost 25? You can’t quit skating!”.

_ You can’t quit me! _

And Yuuri just stares at him with mouth ajar at Yuri’s sudden outburst, blinking rapidly and trying to make any sense from what just happened. Staring right at the green eyes that reflect sadness and fear. 

And a broken heart.

“I don’t know, it just feels like it’s the time for me to retire, I’m satisfied with my achievements; I’ll work at the ice rink of my town, start training professional japanese skaters”.

“But...  _you can’t_ ”. Yuri whines, feeling so childish and selfish for asking him such things. “You can’t”. He mutters, all the bottled emotions starting to overwhelm him, making his eyes watery and knees weak. 

A hand reaches his face, slim fingers brushing Yuri’s chin to lift his gaze. “Why does it bothers you?”. Yuuri asks, voice as kind as ever. Even concerned. “This is not the end for you. You still have a brilliant career ahead!”.

Yuri looks up and he notices that with the skates on, the height difference between him and Yuuri is minimum, he even is slightly taller now. And he wants to tell him that none of it will matter if Yuuri is not there with him. 

He sees briefly his own reflection in the other man’s glasses; his pained expression, lips trembling. And he sees the way his hair is pulled up in some kind of bun that looks like a french twist but with a strand of hair falling loose on the side. 

And Yuri feels so overcame by the situation he does what he thinks it’ll be his last act on earth.

He leans forward, grasping at Yuuri’s black jacket and pulling him so close he feels the way his breath hitches. 

Then his lips are faintly brushing against each other, slowly, teasingly, until they’re fully sealed, fitting together and staying motionless. Yuri is not sure if this counts as a kiss, it’s more like bumping their lips together, but he doesn’t care. And he’s about to draw back when a warm hand reaches for his nape, a careful and almost doubtful touch that sends shivers down Yuri’s spine and then all over his body.

And then all the stiffness goes away, both of them releasing the breaths they were holding, moving lips that mold together, with Yuuri’s initial surprise fading away in favor to move forward and kiss the younger man eagerly, not wasting time and pulling him by the waist, hands around his body, embracing him just perfect as if they’ve done it many times before.

Yuri feels thrill and excitement and relief, all at once, his heart pounding so hard on his chest he’s sure Yuuri can feel it too. But his mind is releasing fireworks of joy and the sting that inhabited his heart is being quickly replaced with something better, warmer, as he dives into the kiss. 

It’s not as he expected it though; with grabby hands all over him, mouths fighting against each other and him generally being handled as Yuuri’s will. No. Yuuri was gentle and patient. Maybe just as inexperienced as he was -which was a slight surprise considering all the time he spends with Victor and Chris-. He was careful, his hands traveling slowly up and down Yuri’s body. Worshipping him.

Yuri had kissed before, some insignificant and meaningless kisses that he forgot the next day. There was one with a girl from his college, who Yuri kinda liked the first days but then grow boring, especially because he had to spend half of his days in the ice rink and she didn’t even like the sport; and then Otabek, one time after a competition years ago, when Yuri wasn’t exactly sure what’s what he wanted, but when he could already feel the puncture on his chest and he was trying to sooth it. Needless to say it wasn’t Otabek who Yuri wanted.

“Hey-” Yuuri breathes, pulling away for the first time in what seemed hours, Yuri following his lips instinctively. “I didn’t know--- I mean --- “.

And when Yuri sees the flush in the other man’s face, he knows there’s no way back for him now.

“Shut up”. Yuri groans, launching himself again against Yuuri’s lips, feeling empty at the loss of touch on his body, proceeding in the bold way only years of pining and longing could lead him, hands sliding down Yuuri’s back, never stopping until he reaches the curve of his ass and grasps it firmly, smiling against the other’s mouth when he gasps in surprise.

And soon they’re walking backwards, needy hands all over each other until Yuuri’s knees bend under one of the benches behind him and he sits. Yuri  ends up straddled over the japanese’s lap; his hands on Yuri’s hips, steadying him, pulling him impossibly close. 

Yuri notices the hesitancy and restraint of the man under him as they kiss, and he can also feel the increasing hardness pressing against his own. So he starts with tiny movements, rocking his hips back and forth; lips never releasing each other, swallowing the moans they both were making. 

Yuri tangled his hands on Yuuri’s hair, pulling slightly at the strands, twisting his fingers on it, loving the low groans that the dark haired man emitted against his mouth. And Yuri couldn’t feel more proud at the response he was eliciting. 

It doesn’t took long before Yuuri decided to take control, his hands moving from Yuri’s hips to his ass, gripping it with a bruising pressure; making the blond man arc his back, chests bumping together, rubbing their clothed erections even harder and closer. Alternating between back and forth and circular motions, testing what it felt better for both.

And everything is rushed and messy. But it's perfect in its own way. Yuri realized he could die in that moment and he would die a happy man.

Yuuri kisses his way down to Yuri’s neck, nibbling the soft skin under his ear, sucking and licking, making sure to don’t leave permanent marks; his hips bucking up while the blond thrusted down, feeling the stickiness of precum wetting his underwear and pants, the hardness of the man above him driving him insane. 

He’s about to ask Yuri to take off his jacket, but they just can’t pull away from each other, the idea of getting apart being too unbearable to even think about it. So he settles for sliding his hands under the golden fabric, feeling the silky skin under his palms as they grind eagerly against each other. Lust and desire taking over their rational judgement.

“So perfect”. Yuuri groans, his tight grip digging into Yuri’s skin. And Yuri is sure that later that day, when he takes off his clothes, there _will_ be marks. 

Yuri moans and clings on Yuuri’s shoulders to steady himself and don’t lose the rhythm he already settled, whimpering and almost purring when Yuuri brushes his thumbs against his nipples. “Fuck”. All of his body already way too sensitive to Yuuri’s caresses.  

It’s too much and yet not enough. 

But the thrill that at any moment someone could walk inside the locker rooms and see them like this, both of them a moaning mess, with Yuri desperately rubbing himself against Yuuri trying to get off, still wearing his skates, it’s enough to send the young man to the edge. His head falling back as he feels himself come on his clothes, silencing his moan by biting his lip so hard he’s about to draw blood. 

But Yuuri is still rocking their hips together, faster now, reaching for his own climax. So Yuri moves backwards on his lap, descending his hand through his chest between their bodies until he reaches the elastic on Yuuri’s pants, kissing him while his fingers slide under it along with the underwear.  

“Yuri, Yuri– _oohh_ ” Yuuri groans, his head falling backwards resting on the wall behind him, eyes tight closed as Yuri brushed his fingers along his length.

And Yuri can’t help himself when he sees Yuuri’s exposed neck, so he leans in and starts kissing and nibbling just like the other man did to him not so long ago, his hand never ceasing to move up and down, jerking off Yuuri at first slow, but then more eagerly and fast. Desiring to be the one that made Yuuri come. Proud in the way the man squirmed under him.

So Yuri, encouraged by the moans of the japanese, changes between stroking up and down to squeeze softly, his thumb circling Yuuri's sensitive tip.

“Yuri- _Oh, fuck_ ”. Yuuri groans, bringing one of his hands to cover his mouth as his hips jerk under Yuri’s touch.

It takes just a few more strokes on his cock before Yuri feels the warm cum of Yuuri on his hand, his name repeated like a prayer; so Yuri slows down his pace, helping Yuuri to come down of his haze. 

They kiss again. But it’s slow and tender; Yuuri hugging the younger man as they both calmed they’re breathing. 

Yuri opens his eyes slowly, feeling his lips numb and wet, the forehead of the other man resting on his own, both sticky with sweat, and he looks at the dark red blush on Yuuri’s cheeks. 

And he feels so blessed and happy; and he feels such a deep appreciation for this man, because it’s a sight he never thought he would look at; because that blush on Yuuri’s face is nothing like the one he has when he just skated, or the one when he’s embarrassed or angry. This one almost looks as if he’s _glowing_.

So they both stare at each other with soft and dreamy looks, panting against each other’s mouth through bright smiles on their faces. 

“This doesn’t mean I’ll let you win”. Yuri finally speaks, voice low and slightly raspy. 

And the laugh that Yuuri lets out is probably the warmest and genuine Yuri has ever heard. “I’m counting on it”. 

* * *

 

They clean up hastily, the feeling of wet clothes making Yuri cringe in disgust, but there was no choice. 

Yuuri is already wearing his skating suit, a coal black with silver applications that contrasted against Yuuri’s pale skin, hair tamed under loads of gel. He smiles to the other man before going out of the room, his bag thrown over his shoulder, blushing lightly when Yuri sends him a dirty grin.

The russian stays behind, trying to fix his hair again, appreciating Yuuri’s work in front of one of the mirrors when someone knocks on the door. 

“Are you visible?”. Viktor’s playful voice comes from the other side, making Yuri roll his eyes, but then getting conscious that no one tried to walk into the rooms while he and Yuuri were at it.

Rushing to the door, Yuri opens it only to find Viktor with a wicked smile and an ‘ _Out of order_ ’ sign on his hand.

“We’re totally calling you Yuri- _oh_ , you know?”. Viktor talks, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Yurio is a good name".

“Ah?”. Yuri asks annoyed, but fearing that there was something hidden behind Viktor’s smile. 

“Ah Yuri-oh, ohh, Yuri-- oh!”. Comes Chris' voice from behind Viktor, putting a lot of emphasis and feeling into his words.

Yuri shushes him alarmed, looking around only to find Otabek sitting close to them, trying to disguise a smile while he scrolled on his phone. 

“What did you hear?”. Yuri hisses, eyes on fire. 

Viktor and Chris laugh together. “Enough to keep JJ and everyone away from you and your lover boy, _Yuri-oh_ ”. Viktor explains, waving the sign in front of Yuri.  

Yuri frowns, but he can’t really be angry, not after what happened and what his friends (he’s still questioning if that’s the correct word) did for him. “Thanks... I guess”. He mutters.

“Now, Yurio,” Viktor continues, throwing an arm over Yuri's shoulders, the stupid smile still on his face. “Would you be so kind to come and warm up? On the ice this time?”. He finished, hearing Chris laughter behind them. 

Groaning, Yuri untangles from Viktor’s hold and walks to the rink, his eyes catching the sight of Yuuri looking at him from across the ice track. A grin on his face that made Yuri blush and smile in return. 

“That’s it, Yurio” Viktor screams again behind him. “Make me proud!”. Making Yuri mutter to himself, with more affection than he intended. 

“Fucking insufferable, Nikiforov. Fucking insufferable”. 

Yuri sets in position, flawless, delicate... _happy_. The soreness on his heart finally alleviated.

**Author's Note:**

> *Good luck
> 
> Pls. Be kind with me. You can tell me if you liked it (or not) here in the comments or in my [Marvel blog here](https://crying-over-supersoldiers.tumblr.com) or in my [side blog here](https://icedaddy-spacedad.tumblr.com)


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